Home is Where
by Crimson Masquerade
Summary: Quick moments between Bilbo and Thorin regarding home...that is, their shared home after all the business with Smaug. (Beware: Book spoilers!) BILBO/THORIN.


"You know, Bilbo…" Thorin cleared his throat. He was unused to doing this—making _requests_ of people. Being a prince, he had spent his entire life with the luxury of ordering others. There was no worry of rejection because his fellows simply had no other choice. This shabby hobbit was different. And the brave, legendary Thorin was frankly terrified.

Bilbo waited patiently. When nothing more came from the dwarf, he prompted. "I know, what?"

"I've been thinking about what will befall us in the coming days. My home, Erebor, lies less than a day's journey from here…" Thorin's voice gave out again. With a sudden intuition (their courtship was still relatively new, and he was unused to these kinds of things), Bilbo reached forward to cover Thorin's calloused hands with his own. He understood. Victory or death—those were the two fates that lay ahead of them now.

"…And, well…oddly enough, I've realized that my home…is wherever you are, Bilbo. And…after all this is over," he continued slowly. For some reason, his deep blue eyes refused to meet Bilbo's own. "After I take my throne in Erebor…I would be honored if you would stay with me. In Erebor, that is."

Bilbo's small hands gave a noticeable jerk. Thorin didn't add anything more; he also continued to refuse Bilbo's eyes. Vulnerability—this was one thing he hated.

"I…I don't know what to say. I mean—I'm not a dwarf; I'm from Hobbiton, for goodness sake! All that talk of mining and Arkenstone and whatsit…it's just…I couldn't belong there!"

With every word Bilbo sputtered out, Thorin felt more and more of his dignity slip away. What in Aulë's name was he thinking, asking Bilbo to leave his entire life and home behind for some unknown, Dragon-infested mountain? But a small, shameless part of him pushed him to go on. Bilbo mattered too much to finish there. Thorin took a shaky breath and continued.

"I understand, Bilbo. It is an unfairly selfish act of mine to ask you to leave your home just for my own happiness. I will honor whichever you choose, and promise to bring you to your Shire safely if that is your decision. Just…please…think about it."

"Ah, Thorin?" Dark eyes were forced upwards as the young man's small hand—how tiny it was on his skin!—lifted up Thorin's chin to face him. Bilbo was smiling tenderly. Thorin had never felt more vulnerable in his life. Could the Halfling hear his heart darting about most un-kingly-like in his chest?

"I'll think about it."

It was amazing how those four words could send Thorin's heart into yet another frantic attack.

"Thank you," he murmured into the hobbit's lips.

* * *

When the keyhole finally opened to the cavernous tunnel within the mountain, and Thorin was cursing every member of the company who were allowing the Halfling to go through with this death mission—"This was the reason Bilbo was brought along in the first place," chirped Gandalf with a knowing smile. "I DON'T _CARE_!" the dwarf prince hollered—the hobbit in question whispered something in Thorin's ear. The other dwarfs, mutually agreeing it to be a final confession of love between the mismatched pair, shuffled their boots in the background. But they understood those final words had been good, for the dwarf prince's eyes blazed brightly in the setting sun. Bilbo's parting words resounded in his thoughts.

"I will, Thorin. After all, my home is wherever you are, too."

Even in the face of immediate danger of his most precious person, Thorin felt a glow resting inside of his chest.

Hope.

* * *

Amidst the shrieks of survivors grieving the dead amidst the carnage of the Battle of Five Armies, a lone Hobbit's whisper seemed to echo the loudest.

Cradling the bloodied body of Thorin to his chest, tears soaking the dark hair of the fallen prince, Bilbo's sobs were muffled into the cold chest.

"You…said…we'd be…home together…damn you…Thorin… I can't…go back…without you…"

* * *

Growing up, Frodo always wondered why his uncle seemed so discontent with the Shire. With childlike impertinence, he once asked Bilbo himself.

"My dear Frodo, I'm afraid my home has been gone for many years."

* * *

_A/N: Long live Thilbo/Bagginshield! Defiling innocent childhood memories, and doing it fabulously!_


End file.
